This morning, I asked Luke what kind of yogurt he would like. All of a sudden, he turned into Carol Channing in "Thoroughly Modern Millie". He sounded just like this:
I can't wait till dessert tonight. "Luke, what kind of pudding do you want?" I'm hoping my dining room turns into my favorite scene from the same musical, minus the roofies, of course.
Darn that Mrs. Meers, with her secret roofie ring and her fun-killer whistle!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
One-upmanship
A few weeks ago, my parents bought a grand piano. This was a very curious purchase, considering neither of them actually play the piano. I thought it was mostly an accessory for their home, but my mom proved me wrong and hired a piano teacher to come and teach the both of them.
Having had her first lesson Tuesday night, Mom called me yesterday and played "Jingle Bells". I was pretty impressed. I mean, she was using both hands. To my knowledge, she couldn't even read music before her lesson.
I just knew Luke would be excited to hear Cookie play a song on her piano, especially considering he loves anything having to do with Christmas. I put the phone on speaker and we listened to her play the song again. After she finished, she said, "What do you think, Luke?"
Luke quickly grabbed his LeapFrog Baby Counting Pal, put it next to the phone, pushed a button, and music started playing. And then he said, "You hear that, Cookie? That's Mozart."
Cookie, we refuse to be impressed by your little "Jingle Bells" song, or whatever it is. Call us back when you can play Mozart.
Having had her first lesson Tuesday night, Mom called me yesterday and played "Jingle Bells". I was pretty impressed. I mean, she was using both hands. To my knowledge, she couldn't even read music before her lesson.
I just knew Luke would be excited to hear Cookie play a song on her piano, especially considering he loves anything having to do with Christmas. I put the phone on speaker and we listened to her play the song again. After she finished, she said, "What do you think, Luke?"
Luke quickly grabbed his LeapFrog Baby Counting Pal, put it next to the phone, pushed a button, and music started playing. And then he said, "You hear that, Cookie? That's Mozart."
Cookie, we refuse to be impressed by your little "Jingle Bells" song, or whatever it is. Call us back when you can play Mozart.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tameka-me-crazy
Saturday morning, I broached the subject of purchasing a new mattress to my husband. I felt really guilty about it, because the mattress we bought as newlyweds is still in great condition. It's just that every time my husband's big toe twitches, I bounce up and down at least three times. If he moves his whole foot, the aftershocks can be felt for two minutes and fifty-six seconds. He moves an arm, and I'm catapulted into the master bath. Bouncy: a great trait for a baby boy, but not so great in a mattress you share with someone else. I don't know how it is that I haven't snapped yet, but I came really close on Saturday morning.
Feeling bad, I started crunching numbers and justifying my desires, like I usually do with any big ticket purchase. The money I saved by nursing my children until they were a year old, and the fact that I don't get my nails done, have both already bought me something sizeable. I can't start using things more than once, or else I can't expect to be taken seriously. Wracking my brain for other expenses I don't have, I thought about my hair. I have never dyed it. I crunched the numbers: if I had dyed my hair every eight weeks at a rate of $X per treatment (I pulled a number out of thin air--like I know how much a dye job costs), that would have added up to $X over the last seven years that we've been married.
"We have a budget for our new mattress," I announced, and then explained how it's practically going to pay for itself since I only go to the salon for trims. Perfectly sound housewife logic, if you ask me.
We set out on Saturday night to test them out. The idea of laying on something in public that other people have laid on really gives me the willies. Putting my shoes on furniture makes me feel nervous, like my dad is going to walk in and I'll be busted...and then he'll open the freezer door and ask "Am I the only one around here who knows the recipe for ice cubes?!" We grew up without an ice maker. (Pitiful pregnant pause)
Also, dealing with hovering salespeople drives me nuts. Enter Tameka, stage left.
Tameka was dressed more like a pool party attendee than a furniture saleswoman. Other than that, I had no major problems with her at first. She left us alone for a bit and didn't hover while we tried out mattresses. But then she started brown nosing my kids, talking baby talk to them and whatnot.
Then she asked me, "How old is the baby?"
"Almost thirteen months," I told her.
"Does he walk yet?"
"No."
"What a lazy baby!"
Now, I don't think I'm overly-sensitive about my children, but there was something about the way she said it that rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps because she doesn't know me? I just don't think it's right to make jokes about a stranger's baby's development. Especially if you're trying to sell them something.
Tameka excused herself while Joe and I continued to take turns tossing and turning on the floor models. We settled on one that we liked, and Tameka came back into the picture, just as Luke started digging for gold.
"Luke," I said quietly, giving him the look. He withdrew his finger from his nose.
"Ewwwww! Don't pick your nose in front of girrrrls!!!" Tameka teased.
We told her that we were going to spend some time thinking about the bed. We wrapped things up and started to head out. Tameka bent down over George's stroller and said, "Good night, handsome!"
"Good night!" Luke replied, not even noticing that she hadn't been talking to him.
"Wow," said Tameka, "someone sure is overly confident!"
Tameka didn't get the sale. We ordered directly from the mattress company over the phone.
The timing of this whole ordeal was impeccable--I found four gray hairs this morning.
Feeling bad, I started crunching numbers and justifying my desires, like I usually do with any big ticket purchase. The money I saved by nursing my children until they were a year old, and the fact that I don't get my nails done, have both already bought me something sizeable. I can't start using things more than once, or else I can't expect to be taken seriously. Wracking my brain for other expenses I don't have, I thought about my hair. I have never dyed it. I crunched the numbers: if I had dyed my hair every eight weeks at a rate of $X per treatment (I pulled a number out of thin air--like I know how much a dye job costs), that would have added up to $X over the last seven years that we've been married.
"We have a budget for our new mattress," I announced, and then explained how it's practically going to pay for itself since I only go to the salon for trims. Perfectly sound housewife logic, if you ask me.
We set out on Saturday night to test them out. The idea of laying on something in public that other people have laid on really gives me the willies. Putting my shoes on furniture makes me feel nervous, like my dad is going to walk in and I'll be busted...and then he'll open the freezer door and ask "Am I the only one around here who knows the recipe for ice cubes?!" We grew up without an ice maker. (Pitiful pregnant pause)
Also, dealing with hovering salespeople drives me nuts. Enter Tameka, stage left.
Tameka was dressed more like a pool party attendee than a furniture saleswoman. Other than that, I had no major problems with her at first. She left us alone for a bit and didn't hover while we tried out mattresses. But then she started brown nosing my kids, talking baby talk to them and whatnot.
Then she asked me, "How old is the baby?"
"Almost thirteen months," I told her.
"Does he walk yet?"
"No."
"What a lazy baby!"
Now, I don't think I'm overly-sensitive about my children, but there was something about the way she said it that rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps because she doesn't know me? I just don't think it's right to make jokes about a stranger's baby's development. Especially if you're trying to sell them something.
Tameka excused herself while Joe and I continued to take turns tossing and turning on the floor models. We settled on one that we liked, and Tameka came back into the picture, just as Luke started digging for gold.
"Luke," I said quietly, giving him the look. He withdrew his finger from his nose.
"Ewwwww! Don't pick your nose in front of girrrrls!!!" Tameka teased.
We told her that we were going to spend some time thinking about the bed. We wrapped things up and started to head out. Tameka bent down over George's stroller and said, "Good night, handsome!"
"Good night!" Luke replied, not even noticing that she hadn't been talking to him.
"Wow," said Tameka, "someone sure is overly confident!"
Tameka didn't get the sale. We ordered directly from the mattress company over the phone.
The timing of this whole ordeal was impeccable--I found four gray hairs this morning.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Stick This
Things Luke has emblazoned with stickers today:
- His underwear
- Some area rugs
- The toilet seat
- His toys
- Some crystal candlesticks from Tiffany's, which he keeps referring to as trophies
- His brother
- The dog
- The kitchen floor
- George's high chair
- His lunch plate
- The coffee table
- The storm door
Things Luke has vehemently refused to put stickers on today:
- The craft we made today--a rain stick, which I expressly instructed him to decorate with stickers
Le sigh.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
This weekend, we did something we hadn't done as a family since our oldest child was born--visit friends and stay in their home. We packed up our minivan and headed to Arkansas, or as I've dubbed it, New Jersey of the South. I just lost half of my readers. Whatever, just don't be all, "YOU live in MISSISSIPPI! THAT'S the New Jersey of the South!" Because Mississippi is really just the Mississippi of the South. You know?
We stayed with Elle, who is one of my best friends in the universe. That kind of makes it sound like I have extra-terrestrial friends. Actually, I sort of do. I met them one night during that crazy season when I was taking Ambien to help me sleep, when my husband was in Iraq and I had just lost a baby. They came to a cocktail party at my home, where everyone was standing upside-down on my ceiling.
Right now, my mother is dialing my number to ask me if I could please hold my cards a little closer to my chest. Joe is searching our cabinets to see if there are any prescription meds he should be flushing down the toilet. Nothing to worry about, folks. I'm getting all the help I need these days from calcium and magnesium supplements.
Anyway, we went to go see Elle, whose husband, Ted, is deployed right now. Elle is nothing if not practical and straightforward. Ted has told me that at any point if I don't want to be her friend anymore, I should just triple talaq her and make a clean break. He's been gone for five months, and we've made numerous plans to get together, but every time, I have canceled at the last second due to a feverish baby or a throwing-up husband. Elle was starting to question my honesty and wondering if I was trying to break up with her, but couldn't bring myself to say, "I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee." Fortunately, nobody got sick this time and we made it up to her house, Elle's security in our friendship in tact.
The thing about being in such close quarters with your peers is that your kids spend most of the time embarrassing the cooties out of you. For example, Luke initiated a game wherein he and Elle's oldest son, Max, sang the theme song to "Bob the Builder" THE ENTIRE WEEKEND. But instead of the word "builder", they came up with alternative words. Racy words!
"Bob the DIAPER, yes we can!" "Bob the STINKPOT, yes we can!" The second I heard the first round, I knew it was the brainchild of my offspring. This isn't the first time he's Mad Libbed a song with potty talk. There was intense giggling and subsequent hiccupping that went along with this game.
There was the time Luke kicked his shorts off to go to the bathroom, and they flew high into the air and landed in the toilet. There were the kazillion times George threw his sippy cup on the floor with all his might, leaving tiny droplets of milk all over the rugs Elle bought when she lived in Turkey, and on her walls and cabinets.
Having planned this last-minute trip for a holiday weekend, we were unable to get a kennel reservation for our dog. Even she tried to do me in. She chewed up one of Elle's younger son's dirty diapers. And then, as the neighbors wereattempting to set Elle's bushes on fire setting off fireworks, Dolley became frightened and piddled on the kitchen floor.
Monday morning, as I walked in on Luke pulling scabs off of his arm and artfully arranging them very close to the spot where Dolley defiled the floor, I was a bit relieved that we had arrived at the end of our visit. Don't get me wrong--we had a wonderful time in Arkansas attending the famous Wagnon Fourth of July Party, sitting and gabbing for hours with Elle and another dear friend, Brooke, and holding my friend Shannon's eleven-day-old baby. But it's true what Benjamin Franklin said, that fish and visitors smell after three days. If there's anybody who I'm not afraid to show my family's true colors to, it's Elle. But I'm afraid my family was stinking to high heaven.
I'm sure we'll plan some more trips to a city near you sometime. Don't screen your phone calls yet--we'll travel again as soon as we're empty nesters.
We stayed with Elle, who is one of my best friends in the universe. That kind of makes it sound like I have extra-terrestrial friends. Actually, I sort of do. I met them one night during that crazy season when I was taking Ambien to help me sleep, when my husband was in Iraq and I had just lost a baby. They came to a cocktail party at my home, where everyone was standing upside-down on my ceiling.
Right now, my mother is dialing my number to ask me if I could please hold my cards a little closer to my chest. Joe is searching our cabinets to see if there are any prescription meds he should be flushing down the toilet. Nothing to worry about, folks. I'm getting all the help I need these days from calcium and magnesium supplements.
Anyway, we went to go see Elle, whose husband, Ted, is deployed right now. Elle is nothing if not practical and straightforward. Ted has told me that at any point if I don't want to be her friend anymore, I should just triple talaq her and make a clean break. He's been gone for five months, and we've made numerous plans to get together, but every time, I have canceled at the last second due to a feverish baby or a throwing-up husband. Elle was starting to question my honesty and wondering if I was trying to break up with her, but couldn't bring myself to say, "I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee." Fortunately, nobody got sick this time and we made it up to her house, Elle's security in our friendship in tact.
The thing about being in such close quarters with your peers is that your kids spend most of the time embarrassing the cooties out of you. For example, Luke initiated a game wherein he and Elle's oldest son, Max, sang the theme song to "Bob the Builder" THE ENTIRE WEEKEND. But instead of the word "builder", they came up with alternative words. Racy words!
"Bob the DIAPER, yes we can!" "Bob the STINKPOT, yes we can!" The second I heard the first round, I knew it was the brainchild of my offspring. This isn't the first time he's Mad Libbed a song with potty talk. There was intense giggling and subsequent hiccupping that went along with this game.
There was the time Luke kicked his shorts off to go to the bathroom, and they flew high into the air and landed in the toilet. There were the kazillion times George threw his sippy cup on the floor with all his might, leaving tiny droplets of milk all over the rugs Elle bought when she lived in Turkey, and on her walls and cabinets.
Having planned this last-minute trip for a holiday weekend, we were unable to get a kennel reservation for our dog. Even she tried to do me in. She chewed up one of Elle's younger son's dirty diapers. And then, as the neighbors were
Monday morning, as I walked in on Luke pulling scabs off of his arm and artfully arranging them very close to the spot where Dolley defiled the floor, I was a bit relieved that we had arrived at the end of our visit. Don't get me wrong--we had a wonderful time in Arkansas attending the famous Wagnon Fourth of July Party, sitting and gabbing for hours with Elle and another dear friend, Brooke, and holding my friend Shannon's eleven-day-old baby. But it's true what Benjamin Franklin said, that fish and visitors smell after three days. If there's anybody who I'm not afraid to show my family's true colors to, it's Elle. But I'm afraid my family was stinking to high heaven.
I'm sure we'll plan some more trips to a city near you sometime. Don't screen your phone calls yet--we'll travel again as soon as we're empty nesters.
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